The Second Kalmar Union
by Coffee-is-Life
Summary: After the European Union collapses, major problems plague Europe -namely, what are all of the countries to do now? And, of course, Norway is the best person to ask. Perhaps not as crack-tastic as it seems.
1. Day 0

Norway sat back and sipped his coffee. Denmark was sitting next to him, shouting something about the old currency- the Danish Krone, Norway assumed- and how it compared to the euro.

Norway paid no attention, nor did he need to; he was not part of the European Union.

Suddenly, the entire world meeting fell silent. That was rare.

All of the members of the EU looked very pale, as if they had seen a ghost.

America, clueless as ever, shouted, "European dudes, what's happening?! I'll save you all! I'm the hero!"

"Ze Eurozone has collapsed! Ze euro is worthless!"

"What does that mean?" America asked.

"It means that everyone in the EU is now broke," Norway replied calmly. He took a sip of his coffee. He had known this would happen eventually.

Already, those affected by the collapse of the EU were running out of the room, into the hallway, shouting into their phones in their native languages.

Scotland still sat to Norway's left. When he had left the UK in 2014, he had followed Norway's advice and not joined the EU. America and Canada were also still seated, as were the African and Asian countries.

Russia had cornered a large portion of his former housemates, but no one who cared was paying attention.

Prussia made his way to the podium. "Zhis meeting has been adjourned by ze awesome me!"


	2. Day 1

Beginning at nine the next morning, Norway received a veritable barrage of text massages. Most of them were from Denmark (ever the drama queen), but some were from Sweden, Finland, and Iceland.

He ignored them all. The problems of the EU were not his problems. They were all poor, now that the euro was worthless, but he could see no benefit in helping them.

Still, Denmark did not like being ignored, as Norway was reminded when the Dane came over for a 'visit'.

Actually, he knocked down the front door. "Norge!"

"What, Dane?" It had been a very nice door, too…

"You gotta help me! It's awful!"

"What is happening?"

"People are rushing the banks! They are riots! Inflation is through the roof!"

"Just take some blood pressure medication. You'll be fine." Well, he wouldn't die of a heart attack, anyway. Strangulation, on the other hand….

"You don't understand, Norge!"

"Get. Out. Of. My. House. Dane."

"I'll become a colony."

Pause. "Excuse me?"

"I'll sign my lands over to you. Please, Nor, just stop the inflation!"

Norway considered. "So, a second Kingdom of Norway and Denmark?"

"Ja! Ja, anything!"

"Alright."

"That's it?" Denmark clearly had expected to have to make himself even more of a nuisance.

"Welcome to the Kingdom of Norway, Province."

"Province?!"

"If you don't like your new station, I suggest you leave now."

"No! No, I'll stay." He paused. "So, I guess we should seal our agreement, the way we sealed our other agreements…." He asked as he leaned in for a kiss.

Norway punched him in the mouth. "I'll draw up the paperwork," he sighed as he watched the very pathetic Dane sit very hard on his backside.


	3. Day 2

England was sitting in his favorite armchair, drinking his favorite Earl Grey -perhaps the last of it he would be able to afford for a long time.

He glared at the bottle of prescription blood pressure pills. He wouldn't have had to take them if they hadn't bloody let wanking Turkey and Greece into the Eurozone. Bloody wankers.

A knock sounded at his door.

"Who is it?"

"_C'est moi, Angleterre_."

Bloody Frog. "What do you want?"

"I have a proposition for you, _mon lapin_-"

"I'm not your bloody rabbit!"

"_Non, non. C'est vrai_….May I come in?"

"No. Go away, Frog."

"I have brought tea."

Pause. "Fine."

The Frenchman entered the room, for once not attired in ridiculous clothing. Instead, he wore a very formal business suit and a grey tie. He set a small wooden chest on England's desk -presumably, that held the tea.

"I assume that you are not on holiday in London."

"_Non_, I need a favor, _mon chou_."

England glared at him. "There's a bottle of blood pressure pills right there."

"_Non_, I have tried zhat. I need a more permanent solution, _Angleterre_."

"I'm not marrying you, you bloody, wanking Frog!"

"Zhat is not what I suggest. I wish to….I do not know the words -_faire un-_"

Spain burst into the room. "England, make me your colony!"

England spat out his tea. "Excuse me?"

"_C'est terrible_! Please, _Angleterre_, we want to be your colonies!"

"Por favor, England!"

"Do either of you have more tea?"

"Anything you want, _mon coeur_!"

"Fine." England rummaged around in his top desk drawer for a moment, and then removed a thick stack of papers. "Here; fill these out."

"_Merci, Angleterre_."

England shrugged. "As long as you keep your hands to yourself, you bloody frog."

* * *

That evening, England was sipping some tea and watching the news. He actually was sort of dozing of, and not paying attention. But then:

"The Prime Minister of Denmark has announced this morning that Denmark will become a colony of Norway, effective immediately."

England spat out his tea.

What?!


	4. Days 3-7

Surprisingly, Denmark was not a horrible house-guest.

No, he did the cooking, and every morning, the first thing he did was make a pot of coffee for Norway. Actually, it was like living with a house wife. A very loud, idiotic house wife, but still, Norway could not complain about the quality of food or coffee.

Also, Denmark had settled down relatively quickly after signing the papers. Then again, Norway had slipped some blood pressure pills into the Dane's beer after he had refused to take them.

While sipping his coffee, Norway made some calls to the rest of his family. It had been a rare occasion when Norway called a Nordic Council meeting; Denmark usually did that. However, Denmark was no longer in charge.

So, in the afternoon, all five Nordic's met in Norway's house for a council meeting.

Sweden and Finland arrived together. Both looked pale, wan. Their eyes were sunken and rimmed with dark shadows. They were too proud to ask for help with their economies.

Iceland arrived shortly after. He, too, looked ill. Not as ill as Finland, but it did bother Norway to see his little brother like that.

They all sat around a big, rectangular table. Norway sat at the head; Denmark was to his left. Sweden sat to Norway's right, with Finland next to him. Iceland sat next to Denmark.

"How is everybody today?" Norway asked when they were all seated.

"Well, Norway, we've all been better." Finland, for some reason, was rather fidgety.

"Th' 'c'n'my 'sn't v'ry good." (1)

Finland glared at Sweden.

"Tourism has gone down," Iceland murmured sleepily.

"I have a proposition for you. Denmark brought its possibility to me."

Finland began cursing loudly in Finnish.

"Excuse me?" Norway asked. He looked down the table at Finland, only to see that his nose had explosively begun to bleed.

Sweden dug some tissues from his pocket and handed them over. Finland used them to stop his nosebleed. Surprisingly, it did not take long.

"'m bery sowry," he muttered, his nose plugged up to such a degree that had the not known (or been) Sweden, they would have had no idea what he was saying. (2)

"Is the inflation so bad?" Norway asked.

Finland nodded. "Ids zo bad dat da goberment iz nod baying for health care adybore." (3)

"So I see."

"'re ye 'lr'ght, w'fe?" (4)

"Ib nod yer wife!" (5)

"'E's 'lr'ght," Sweden said to Norway. (6)

"Why did you make us come all the way to Oslo? Travel isn't exactly cheap now," Iceland said.

"Little Brother, how are you faring?"

"Tourism is down. Inflation is up. Much like the rest of Europe."

"Except for me!" Denmark shouted.

"How iz id dat yo do nod have infladion, Denmarg?" (7)

"He signed up to be my colony."

"'E wh't?" (8)

"He's my colony now. Well, province, but anyway, he belongs to me."

"Kingy, Norway," Finland muttered Who knew that a sweet, delicate flower like that could be such an ass? (9)

Norway ignored him. "If you become a colony, I will stop inflation and return things to a somewhat normal state."

"No!" the three non-signatories shouted.

"Fine. But my offer still stands. Kroner, at least, are backed up with gold. I can wait."

* * *

Norway did not have to wait long.

Three days later, Finland showed up, a pen in one hand, a box of tissues in the other. After probably setting a record for most nosebleeds in a three-day period (23, to be exact), he was fed up.

"Norway, please help me."

"Of course. Come into my house."

Norway waited near the door way while Finland removed his shoes. " How are things in your house?"

Finland shook his head. "Not well. The euro is completely worthless, and the housing market collapsed this morning. Russia's been visiting also."

Norway helped Finland up. He did look like he was not doing well -the Finn was far too pale, too thin, too weak.

"The papers are in my study."

Though Norway's study was not far, he still had to help Finland, as he was unsteady on his feet.

Within minutes, though, the papers had been signed, and he began looking better. Norway offered him a few blood pressure pills. "Your economy will not be fixed right away; it doesn't work like that. In the meantime, these will help with your explosive nosebleeds."

"Thank you, Norway. I'll try to be a good colony." Finland still seemed fidgety. Norway could guess the reason for his nervousness.

"I will treat you far better than we ever were. That I promise you. May I offer you some coffee?"

"Actually, do you have any vodka?"

Norway sighed and pulled a bottle out of his desk drawer. "Knock yourself out -figuratively, of course."

"Kiitos."

* * *

That afternoon, Iceland also paid a visit to Norway.

He, too, was frail-looking, though he had not been subject to explosive nosebleeds.

It did not take long for Norway to have him seated in his study. "Little Brother-" he began, only to have Iceland cut him off.

"This is making none of the senses!"

Norway raised an eyebrow and calmly sipped his coffee.

"Why are you trying to take over?"

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Stop procrastinating."

"No."

"Say it or I won't help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Then why are you here, Little Brother?"

"Fine. I. Need. Your. Help."

"Say it."

"…Big Brother."

Norway smiled. "So, the terms…" he began as he pulled a stack of papers out of his desk.

Within minutes, Norway had yet another new colony.

* * *

Early the next morning, Norway woke up the sound of his cell phone ringing.

He answered it sleepily. Seriously, who called this early?

Apparently, Sweden did. "Good m'rnin', N'rway." (10)

"Why are you calling this early?" Norway was rather grumpy. He was not a morning person, and it was still pitch black outside.

"F'nl'nd's 't yer h'se?" (11)

"…Ja…"

"'ll b' th're 'n 'n h'ur." (12)

"What? Sweden?" But it was too late; Sweden had already hung up.

Still not entirely awake himself yet, Norway woke Denmark up and sent him to the kitchen to make coffee.

After the coffee was done, Norway took his first sip of the morning and began explaining the situation to Denmark.

"Wait. Sweden's coming here? Why?"

"Finland, I assume."

"Do you know what he wants?"

"He hung up before I could ask him."

"Typical Swede."

"Hm."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Denmark getting more and more fidgety as time went on.

"Norge?"  
"Hm?"

"If Sweden joins us, it will be like the Kalmar Union."

"Yes, except that I lead this time."

"Ja…I hope it turns out better."

"Ja."

Half an hour later, Sweden showed up on Norway's doorstep. "Wh're's m' w'fe?" (13)

"He's sleeping…it's only 5:15…"

Sweden shrugged and shouldered his way into the house.

"Norge…?"

"Sweden? What are you doing?"

Sweden glared at Norway. "'m joinin' yer union." (14)

"I'll get the paperwork…"

"'t's t' 'rly fer p'p'rw'rk." (15)

What.

* * *

A/N: Say what you will about Russia, Sweden is way scarier. Also, so you know what is happening:

(1) "The economy isn't very good."

(2) "I'm very sorry."

(3) "It's so bad that the government is not paying for health care anymore."

(4) "Are you alright, wife?"

(5) "I'm not your wife!"

(6) "He's alright."

(7) "How is it that you do not have inflation, Denmark?"

(8) "He what?"

(9) "Kinky, Norway."

(10) "Good morning, Norway."

(11) "Finland's at your house?"

(12) "I'll be there in an hour."

(13) "Where's my wife?"

(14) "I'm joining your union."

(15) "It's too early for paperwork."


	5. Day 8

England was rather proud of himself. His two worst enemies were now his colonies.

He had thought that his house would be noisier, more chaotic now, but in reality, it was not. Spain took naps in the afternoon, and France was just waking up at eleven in the morning, due to his very active nightlife.

And they had given him tea. Lots of tea. Enough to last through till Doomsday.

He would not admit it (he had too much pride for that), but England missed his colonial empire.

Then again, he could build a new empire. He had resources and manpower from his new colonies.

Yes, he needed a new project; his cross-stitching was starting to bore him. He pulled out his map. Who would be weakest, while having something worth taking over?

His eye settled on Germany. Yes, that would work.

But first, he needed to take care of the threat to the north: his traitorous brother. The Scottish man would regret leaving the UK.


	6. Day 9

Norway's cell phone rang. He checked it. Scotland.

"Hello, Scotland."

"Norway! It's good t' hear from ya."

"What do you want?" Norway was suspicious. The Scottish man did not make small-talk. Also, having spent many centuries hauling Denmark out of taverns, bars, and pubs, Norway knew when people were absolutely pissed.*

"My bloody brother is tryin' to make me join him!"

"England wants you back in the UK?"

"Aye. D'ya need an ally?"

"I don't, but it seems like you might."

"Aye. I cannae g' back t' him!"

"Is Glasgow out of alcohol?"

"Why d'ya ask?"

"It sounds like you are drunk."

"Hm."

Norway decided to drop it. "Where would you like to work out our alliance negotiations?"

"Isle o' Man."

"Excellent."

* * *

Scotland stood on the shore of the Isle of Man. He looked out at the sea.

Everything came from the sea. Even scientists told him that the first life on land had come from the sea. The first people he had met, other than his own, had come from the sea to the east. But that was long ago.

The sun had nearly set, its last few golden rays of light spilling across the waves. As he gazed across the ocean, he thought he saw something -a long ship? - silhouetted by the sun.

But that was impossible. Long ships had not sailed in these, or any, waters in nearly a thousand years.

"Scotland."

A voice behind him startled the Scottish man. Still, he was proud of himself for not showing his surprise as he turned around. (Besides, the voice was not speaking in an English accent.)

"Norway."

"Blue and white suit you."

"Thank ye."

"Red never did go with your hair."

"He dinnae change th' flag when I left, d'ya know tha'?"

"I am aware." Norway let a small amount of irritation into his voice. "Enough small talk. Our alliance: what are the terms?"

Scotland noticed that Norway seemed…taller now. His wrists stuck out just a little from the edge of his jacket cuffs, and he was able to meet Scotland's eyes without tilting his head back. That had never happened before. Strange.

"I'm yer equal, not yer colony."

"Seems reasonable."

"Ye must come t' my defense if my brother attacks again."

"Again, that is reasonable."

"If ye gain territories in France, they are t' be given t' me."

Norway nodded. "I am aware of that." He paused. "And in return…?"

"Any lands gained in th' southern part o' the Isle are yers."

"And?" Norway prompted.

"I'll fight in yer wars when ye ask."

"That is reasonable."

"Then let us seal our agreement." Scotland offered Norway his hand, and Norway shook it.

"It will be like the old days," Norway murmured, staring out at the sea. "In some ways, anyway."

"All o' us 'gainst my brother? Aye, tha' it will."

* * *

A/N: This chapter was inspired by two things: the phrase "Scandinavian Scotland", and the Auld Alliance (the alliance of France and Scotland against England). History makes its own ships.

*Also, in this case, "pissed" is British slang for drunk, not American slang for "really angry."


	7. Day 10

The next world meeting was called ten days after the collapse of the Eurozone. This was not really because of the euro. It was because most of the attentive countries (not you, America!) had caught a whiff of war, and a good portion of them were eager to stop it from spreading.

(Not all, of course. Britain still wanted more colonies, and that would involve war.)

This particular meeting took place in New York, and thus, America was hosting.

However, this was no ordinary meeting. For one thing, the entire seating arrangement had changed (much to Germany's dismay), due to recently formed treaties and alliances.

England and Russia sat together, surrounded by their new colonies. (Another change: Russia's place card read: "NSSR" -New Socialist States of Russia.")

Norway, his colonies, and Scotland sat on the other side of the table. All of the other countries sat awkwardly in the middle.

The first topic of the day was, as America phrased it, "Okay, dudes, the euro's totally worthless! I propose we build a giant robot-"

At this point, Germany took over, as everyone knew he would. "Ze euro _is_ totally vorthless. Vhat we need to do is implement more government control on ze economy."

America shouted, "Commie!" Everyone ignored him.

England raised his hand.

"Vhat, Herr England?"

"Another solution, Mister Germany, would be to ally one's self with with a country that had a more stable economy."

"Zhat is true."

"Would you like to make yourself a colony?"

The entire meetig fell absolutely silent, as everyone stared at England. He had never been so…_forward_ before.

Scotland jumped up. "You ambitious bastard!"

England stood. "I do what I bloody well please. Germany, your economy was reliant on the euro. How are you doing now?"

"It has been rough. But I vould not ally myself with you, Herr England."

"Then I will take your land from you!"

A moment of dead silence. To take a country's land -wholly and completely, as England suggested- was a death sentence.

France tried to push England back into his chair. "Angleterre, you cannot talk like that," he murmured.

"Ye have gone t' far!"

"Cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war!"

You know things were getting serious, now that England was quoting Shakespeare.

Spain and France dragged England out of the room, the Brit spitting curses to whole way.

Norway turned to his family. "We must watch our backs. England is a vengeful man."

Scotland nodded. "Aye, tha' he is."

* * *

Prussia stopped Denmark as everyone was leaving the meeting.

"Danemark, please, vill you help mein brüder?"

"Prussia, dude, you know that if it were my decision, I would, but…"

"Vhat is it, Danemark?"

"Norway's my pimp now."

"Vhat?!"

"I'm his colony now."

Any other time, Prussia would have been laughing at his own inappropriate joke by now. "Zhat is unawesome! Mein brüder needs allies!"

"Talk to Norway. He's pretty nice."

"Ze one with ze awkward friends zhat generally smells of fishes? Zhat one? He is so far from awesome zhat-"

"Denmark! Are you coming?"

"Oh, ze mean one."

"Ja, Norge. Um, Prussia would like to talk to you."

Norway stalked back into the room. "Hallo, Herr Preussen."

"Hallo. Herr Norwegen, mein brüber is worried about ze English one. Vill you become allies with us?"

"I cannot worry about your brüder right now. I have had to concentrate troops in the east to protect my family."

"Vhat is zhere to fear in ze east, besides ze awesome me?"

"Russland. He has plans for Finland. You, too, probably. I will not fight a two-front war if I can avoid it."

"I understand. Zhank you for your time, Herr Norwegen."

He stalked away. If he had been a cat, his tail would have been lashing angrily.

"Was that the right decision, Norway?"

"It was the only choice I had. Family comes first. Always." He shook his head. "We need to catch a plane."

* * *

A/N: Prussia's accent is too fun to write.


	8. Days 11 and 12

The next few days seemed to be like that eye of a storm -still, quiet, as if something was waiting to happen.

The silence could not last.

In the meantime, Norway made preparations for war. They were tedious, but they gave him something to take his mind away from worrying.

On the evening of the second day, Norway was finally finished. So. Much. Paperwork.

He stretched and finished the last of the coffee in his cup. He was itching to do something physical, something active.

He wondered if…

Curious, he dug through his closet until he found what he was looking for.

Grinning (well…), he ran downstairs. "Danmark!"

"Norge?"

"Do you remember when we were younger? How we used to spar before dinner?"

"Of course. Why-?"

Norway held out a wooden sword and axe.

"You kept these?"

"Figured they might come in handy. So? D'ya want to spar with me?"

"It's been a long time, Norge. Sure you're still in shape?" Denmark teased, poking Norway in the stomach.

"I'm not the housewife."

"Oh, it's on now, Norge."

Norway ran out the door, to the nearby clearing, which was perfect for sparring: no rocks, fairly flat, grass-covered. He tossed the axe to Denmark, who barely caught it.

And then they began:

It was a dance. A beautiful, deadly dance. They were evenly matched: Norway was just a bit faster, but Denmark was stronger. Both were equally skilled and they knew how the other fought. Every blow was blocked with perfectly timed parries. They were truly masters of their craft.

Something had to give eventually. They could not go on forever, both had too much pride pride to call a stalemate.

And something did give.

Norway had been advancing on Denmark, but the Dane tripped. Instinctively, Norway caught Denmark's wrist, then slammed him backwards into a tree. It happened so fast that the next thing either of them knew, Norway's sword rested across Denmark's collarbones. His other hand still had a firm grip on Denmark's wrist, fingers pressing into the tendons and casing the axe to fall to the ground.

Both were breathing heavily (it had been a long time since they had done this, after all). Still, with their noses mere inches apart, Norway managed to get out two words: "I…win…"

Denmark nodded, so Norway let go of his wrist and stepped back.

"That was fun," Denmark said when he finally got his breath back.

"Ja…we should go back to the house…it's getting dark."

* * *

That night, Norway could not sleep. So, he got his map of Europe out and tried to figure out England's plan.

If that ambitious bastard wanted Germany's land, he would begin the invasion through the Benelux countries.

If Norway began counteroffensives from the north, he could push England's army to the south -where the Brit would be well-supplied, but Norway would be cut off.

On the other hand, if his invasion started in the east, he could push England back to his own territories.

Of course, either way, Norway would have to worry about being trapped between two armies: England's and Russia's.

Even so, this was not his war. He should not worry about Germany; he could take care of himself.

Still, Russia had not made any threatening action to the North. His army was already mobilizing in the south.

Though, if Russia and England split Europe between them, they would have so much power…Their empires would be enormous. It would, at that point, not be difficult for either of them to conquer his lands.

The best defense was a good offense.

He decided to make some calls in the morning.

* * *

A/N: My good friend Scotty has offered to write some supplemental chapters for this story. Would anyone be interested in them? (So far, these chapters fill in stuff we don't really get to see/ stuff I have left ambiguous.) The Italy chapter is really funny, even though it's not done yet. What do you, my fabulous readers, think? (They would also answer the "Does Coffee-is-Life ship things?" question. The answer is yes, I use the postal service. Interesting fact: You can send coconuts through the US postal service as long as you put enough stamps on them.) Let me know what you think!


	9. Day 13

England had made his plans. He had made alliances. He was always very good at planning.

And now, he surveyed the Ruhr valley. The march from the French border had not been met with problems. The country side was quiet.

Of course, the Ruhr valley was not the goal. The goal was Berlin. Control Berlin, control Germany -and Prussia, of course.

"We march on!" he shouted -and his army, his new colonial army- marched to Berlin.

* * *

Ten miles away from Berlin he was forced to call a halt. Something blocked the roadway ahead. He pulled his spyglass out (it was old, but it still worked) and looked ahead.

Two people guarded to roadway. One was ta, wore a hat that resembled a top hat in a military uniform, and carried a spear. The other was shorter, wore a white beret, and was almost gleefully cleaning a rifle.

Sweden and Finland? What on Earth were they doing guarding the roadway tem miles from Berlin? This was not Norway's war.

He, along with France and Spain, walked up to the two-person barricade.

"W' c'nn't l't ya p'ss," Sweden began with no preamble. ("We cannot let you pass.")

"I have an army."

"F'ne. B't th's w'r w'll n't b' th' 'sy v'ct'ry ya th'nk." ("Fine, but this war will not be the easy victory you think.")

"And it's getting late," Finland interjected. "Surely your troops are needing to rest."

"We will move back 500 yards and camp for the evening then."

"Good night!"

* * *

The next morning, the two Nordics were gone.

However, when England crested the hill that was a mile down the road from the blockade, he began cursing.

An enormous army -larger than his, at any rate- was camped there. He saw Norway's flag -it was the most prominent- in the middle of the camp.

This was Norway's army. How had it gotten so vast? Norway had no friends.

"Sacred bleu," France muttered.

England had been studying the flags: Norway's, of course; the rest of the Nordics', plus Greenland's; Austria's -not a big problem there; Hungary's-now that was a problem; Italy's, who would probably surrender or run away as soon as the fighting began; Scotland's -Hell!; and, finally, the old Prussian flag -Bloody hell!

Norway had no friends!

"Bloody hell!" He would have to call Russia up. After all, if one needed a demon to bother Germany, Russia was the way to go.

He scanned the land at the bottom of the hill. There was a large open area about 300 yards to the south. That would be his camp.

Tonight, he would reevaluate his plans, make some new ones, and, come morning, he would attack.

* * *

Norway watched as England's army crested the hill and marched to the south. He could have ordered an attack. He could have, and he would have crushed England's army.

Yet he sent no orders. He did not want to crush England's army. He wanted no war. He had seen too much war during his long life.

Hopefully, come morning, they could begin the peace negotiations.


	10. Day 14

Russia's army showed up just before dawn. England welcomed them with hot tea. He was glad to have allies, glad enough to share his tea, anyway.

And in another hour, the offensive would begin.

* * *

Norway was fairly confident of his plans for defense of the camp:

He had positioned Finnish snipers on nearby hills. The rest of his troops were mainly infantry, though he had some German engineers, and Austria had provided the military band. The Italians made up the rear guard. Iceland, lacking his own military, was in charge of making sure orders got to where they were supposed to.

It was an effective plan. By noon, England's army had been driven off three times.

Unfortunately for Norway, he had not planned for Russia's arrival. Three must have been the magic number, because after England had completed his third retreat, it was not French troops that rallied, nor Spanish, nor British.

No, it was NSSR troops.

Norway had to begin an orderly retreat; the only group of soldiers that was more productive was the Finnish snipers.

Still, the battle lines never reached the edge of Norway's camp. It was, at least, a small accomplishment. The fighting ended about an hour after sunset by mutual unspoken agreement.

Norway, his allies, and his colonies met in the central command tent after the battle. The only absence: Scotland. Where had he gone? Norway hoped he was alright; they were old friends.

Still, all of the countries present gave a casualty report and Norway was not dissatisfied by the numbers. He did ask Prussia where Germany was, though.

"He vanted to get some zhings in order before he came to ze front. In case somezhing happened. "

"Will he be here tomorrow?"

"If not tomorrow, zhen ze next day."

"Alright. The next offensives will begin in the morning, so we should all get some sleep. Dismissed."

(Although the terms of Norway's alliances had stated that they were all equal, Norway had accepted the role of commander.)

* * *

Of course, he did not take his own advice.

According to his clock, it was now just after 2 am. He had lost track of how many times he had refilled his coffee cup.

Truthfully, he **had **tried to go to sleep, but he was too restless. Eventually, he had given up and decided to work on battle plans.

A tentative rap on the tent pole startled him, though he hid it when he answered.

"Come in."

Denmark slipped into the tent. "Hej, Norge."

"You should be asleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"You should be asleep too."

"I have too much to do."

Denmark shrugged, apparently not believing him.

Norway turned back to his plans, a pencil in one hand making notations.

"It's ok if you're afraid."

"I'm not."

"It's ok if you are."

"I'm not afraid."

Denmark made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

Norway put his pencil down. "Why do you say that I am afraid?"

"You do not generally stay up this late. And you're tense. How many cups of coffee have you since you got up?"

"I…lost track…"

"I figured you'd return to bed after a walk. I didn't expect…this."

"Do you want to take command?"

Denmark chuckled softly. "Oh, come now, Norge, the biggest thing I've done for the world in the last 400 years was invent Legos. I can't lead an army."

"I thought I'd offer," Norway said wryly. "Now, is there some reason you're here, or are you just bothering me?"

Any other time, Denmark would have made some joke about bothering Norway, but tonight, he did not. Instead, he moved to stand behind Norway, who was still seated, and began massaging his shoulders.

"You are too stressed, Nor."

"I know." Pause. "Did you -were you ever this stressed and…out of sorts?"

"A little, after Sweden left with Finland. More, after you left." He laughed softly. "Ice can tell you what a mess I was."

"I heard …about some of it, but…it was difficult to believe."

"You didn't think I was capable of it?"

"No. I knew you as the berserker, the proud one, not the angry, vengeful one."

"And now?"

Norway didn't say anything for a moment. "You're afraid of being left behind and forgotten. That makes you friendly and enthusiastic."

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

"And sweet."

Denmark's hands stopped. "Really?"

"Ja. I might even be able to sleep after this massage."

Denmark hid a smile. Compliments from Norway were rare and should be appreciated every time you got one. It was, however, best not to acknowledge it.

"That's about all I can do for your shoulders."

"Thank you."

"'Alt for Norge,' ja?"

Norway smiled. "It's late; you should go to bed."

"You should also come to bed."

"I will. I just need to finalize a few details."

"Ok. Just don't stay up too much longer."

"I won't."

* * *

A/N: "Alt for Norge" is the royal motto of Norway. It means "Everything for Norway."

Also, to get the references about Finnish snipers, you should google Simo Hayha.


	11. Day 15

England was missing from the battlefield the next day. Only, everyone was too busy to worry about it.

Neither army gained any ground by the end of the day. Just hours and hours of endless stalemate.

Somehow, Germany made it through to the Norwegian lines around 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Italy, of course, noticed first. Norway had to smile at the way the excitable country greeted to more stoic one.

That was the only bright part of the day.


	12. Day 16

Scotland tugged again at the chains futilely.

He wondered how much time has passed; there were no windows in the dungeon.

He was so angry at himself. How had he allowed himself to be captures by his little brother? Of all the foolish, bloody-

No. He could not afford to think like that.

An unknown amount of time passed. It was difficult to concentrate on anything but his empty stomach. England had not seen fit to give him food or water after locking him in the dungeon.

He heard someone coming. Was it his imagination?

No, those were definitely footsteps.

"England, ya bastard!"

No answer.

"Bastard, answer me!"

Nothing.

"I know yer there!"

The cell door opened and a blonde head popped in. It was not England.

"_Écosse_?"

"Franny? Is tha' you?"

"_Oui_." He slipped into the room. "_Écosse, _I am so sorry zhat Angleterre did zhis to you."

"'Is not yer fault, Franny."

France brushed a lock of hair out of Scotland's eyes. "It was easier to keep your hair out of your beautiful green eyes when you had long hair, _mon cher._" The Frenchman sighed. "We cannot stay here."

"Ya don't say."

France ignored him and began picking the locks on the shackles. Within moments, they fell against the war with a loud "Clang!"

"Come. We must leave before Angleterre gets back."

Scotland wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

The trip back to the battleground was unremarkable.

However, as they crested the hill, they both stopped and stared.

Norway's army was completely surrounded:

To the south, England's army. To the east, Russia's. To the west, America's. And to the North, the combined Commonwealths'.

The line was not yet at the edge of the camp, but it was dangerously close in some places.

"We must help them!" Scotland shouted as he ran down the hill.

"_Vive la Norvège_!"

* * *

The battle lines were moving closer. The troops were losing hope. Norway had so few soldiers left that every time one lost his life, Norway could feel it.

The others must have felt it, too, the deaths of their troops. Even the most stoic shed a few tears.

Norway had to stop working, as he was smearing the writing on his map.

A knock sounded on the tent post. He made a quick swipe at his eyes, then said, "Come in."

Germany entered the tent. "Herr Norvay."

"Herr Germany."

"I vant to face England."

"Why?"

"Vhy? Zhis is my fight. I must face him."

"You don't need to."

"Herr Norvay, you vere a Viking. You know about honor in battle-"

"Yes, yes I do. I wish I didn't."

"My debt to you is unpaid."

"There is no debt."

"I'm not asking for your permission."

Norway sighed. "I know. May Odin favor you."

Germany turned to leave the tent, but before he did, he murmured, "I'm sorry about April Ninth."

"I have forgiven you, as I have forgiven everybody."

* * *

Norway had one last card to play, one last roll of the dice. He could not be sure if it would work.

He called China and North Korea and asked them to invade the Middle East.

* * *

Germany fought his way into the English camp. England watched him.

Was he surrendering-?

But no, Germany was too proud for that. He would be there to challenge England.

And England was prepared for that.

He lifted his wand -with a phoenix feather core- from its green velvet-lined box.

He left his tent.

Germany was striding through the tents. When he saw England he shouted, " England, you bastard!" and raised his gun.

England grinned and lifted his wand. He shouted a spell almost gleefully. The gun flew from Germany's hand. Germany himself was lifted off his feet. With a flick of his wrist, England brought Germany to him.

"Let. Me. Go."

"No."

"Let me face you, man to man. Don't you remember honor?"

England ignored him. "Do you know how much pain you have caused me? How much I have had to go through because of you?"

"You vere not the vorst off."

"Maybe not, but I will have fun killing you and taking your land."

England turned away.

"Remember the football game, England?"

"No. No, I don't," he lied.

* * *

A/N: The next chapter will be very long.

The "football game" refers to the first Christmas of WWI, where the German and English soldiers called a temporary truce and they played soccer in No Man's Land.

"April Ninth" refers to the invasion of Norway (and Denmark) during WWII, in 1940.

Odin is a Norse god.

The Auld Alliance was an alliance between France and Scotland.

And France can pick locks. Deal with it.


	13. Day 17

The darkest hour had come. It would take some time for China and North Korea to mobilize -hopefully not more than a few days. He wasn't sure if his army could last that long.

The previous evening, Germany had not returned. Italy was inconsolable. Prussia and Hungary had disappeared somewhere -Norway really wasn't sure where, but he hoped he wouldn't have to deal with whatever holy hell they were raising. He really needed them; the battle lines were now at the outskirts of his camp.

He had to do something.

There was, perhaps, a single ray of light all day: Scotland had returned with a friend -France. The Frenchman had defected for love, apparently. But better love that hate, Norway supposed.

Still, the supplies hadn't been coming through. There weren't enough tents for France to have his own. Thankfully, Scotland had volunteered to share.

He'd had to smile at that. The almost dissolution of the Auld Alliance had hurt the Scottish man. They had sort-of fallen out of love. So, now, many years later, it was nice to see him head-over-heels again.

Still, the smile didn't last long. A group of Norway's soldiers were killed, all within a matter of minutes. He hadn't been able to feel his fingers, to breathe -all he felt was their passing.

There were so few left…

When the pain finally lessened, Norway found that Denmark was sitting next to him, holding a cup of coffee.

"Hey, Norge. Thought you might need this."

Gratefully, Norway accepted the cup. With his other hand, he wiped away his tears.

"I heard about that company. Died bravely. Took down a group of Russians twice as large as theirs."

"They are -were- my people. May Valhalla open its gates wide for them."

Norway took a deep breath and sipped his coffee. "Where d'ya think we go when we die?"

"I don't know. I suppose, the same place as everyone else."

"Maybe I'll see them again."

"Maybe."

Norway put down the coffee cup -it was empty. "Is there something you wanted?"

"I wanted to make sure you were ok."

"I am."

Abruptly, Denmark changed the subject. "Where are reinforcements needed?"

Norway looked at his map. "The south. Thor be with you."

Denmark nodded as he left. "And Odin with you."

* * *

A runner ran into the command tent. "Sir!"

"What?"

"Sir, Magnus Christenssen was defeated by Arthur Kirkland in hand-to-hand combat."

Norway felt the blood drain form his face. "How…bad…?"

"I don't know. My commander told me to tell you right away."

Norway didn't say anything to the runner. Instead, he ran for the lines in the south.

He never should have let Denmark fight. Of course he would try to fight England, the idiot.

Norway hoped he was okay.

Finally, he made it to the lines. A group -perhaps six- of Danish soldiers stood over Denmark, who was lying on the ground.

Norway sent a silent thanks to them for protecting the fallen Dane, even though they probably had no idea who he was.

He knelt next to Denmark and felt for a pulse in his neck. He found one; it was slow and weak, but it was there.

The apparent cause of Denmark's unconsciousness was apparent to Norway almost immediately: a large hole in his stomach. It looked as if someone had stabbed him, then twisted the blade.

Norway was fairly skilled at battle field medicine -after all, he had been the one to patch Denmark up after every battle during the 400 Years of Night. This, though, might be beyond his expertise. But if he did nothing, Denmark would die, country or no country.

First things first: he needed to get Denmark out of the middle of the battle. He looked around for help. Sweden was fighting nearby.

"Berwald!"

The Swedish man turned, saw Denmark, and ran over.

"Help me carry him back to the command post."

"'ll c'rry 'm. 't'll b' f'ster." ("I'll carry him. It will be faster.")

* * *

Many hours later, Norway was asleep in a chair next to the cot he had patched Denmark up on.

He'd used magic as well a needle and thread (he hadn't let the doctors lay a finger on the Dane; he didn't trust science as much as he trusted his own magic), and he was exhausted. There had been a lot of stitching to do.

He still wasn't sure if Denmark would pull through; he'd lost a lot of blood. That thought frightened Norway far more than he wanted to admit. Denmark had always been there. Always. His first memory was of Denmark finding him in the woods of Southern Norway, near the place that Oslo was today.

He awoke sometime well after sunset; the tent was dark, and the fighting seemed to have stopped. He wasn't sure at first what had woken him. With a thought, he lit a lamp so he could see.

Then he realized that Denmark was holding his hand. Was he awake now?

"Norge?"

"Danmark?" Norway was relieved. If he was awake now, he'd probably make it. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been stabbed in the stomach. That is what happened, right?"

"You -you don't remember?"

Denmark shook his head. "That last thing I remember was getting sleepy for some reason…Maybe England did something…"

England had used magic to defeat Denmark? That coward, that useless, son-of-a-

No. Norway would get his revenge. England's spells were no match against Norway's very old, very morally-ambiguous magic.

"I'm really tired, Nor. I think I'll go back to sleep."

"You're going to be alright, Danmark. Do you understand?"

The Danish man laughed softly, then winced as his stitches were pulled by his laughter. "I'm too stupid to die, Norge. You know that." He closed his eyes and, within moments, was sound asleep.

Norway brushed some hair off Denmark's face and soon, he was also asleep.


	14. Day 18: Part 1

Norway woke again just before dawn. Denmark was still fast asleep.

Norway knew what he had to do. He stood and stretched. He walked to his own tent, where he changed into clean clothes -it wouldn't matter what he was wearing, but something about clean clothes made him feel prepared. He avoided looking at the narrow, 4-foot-long box on his desk.

Norway went to wake Iceland, only to find that he was already up.

"Hey, Iceland."

"Hello, Norway. Why are you up so early?"

"I could ask the same of you, Little Brother."

"Mm."

"I wanted to see you. It has been a few days."

Iceland knew when his brother was lying, but he did not say anything about it. "Norway, is that the only reason you came? To see me?"

Norway chuckled softly. "Why? Were you expecting something?"

Iceland frowned. He hated having his own words thrown back at him. "No, I just…" He shook his head. "Never mind."

"I wanted to talk to you, Iceland."

"About what?"

"I have to…do something. And while I'm gone, I want you to run things."

"I can't do that. Why can't you do that?"

Norway looked away. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

Iceland had known his brother for a very long time. He knew (at least he thought he did) exactly what Norway was going to do, even if he never said it.

He hugged Norway. "Lykke til, Big Brother."

When he let go, he swiped his eyes. He had NOT been crying. Nope.

"Don't cry, Little Brother."

* * *

The sun was coming up as Norway left Iceland's tent. He slipped into his own tent and opened the box.

A sword rested in a nest of red velvet. Golden runes ran down the length of the blade. Norway could read them, but he didn't read them now. He lifted the sword out.

Perfectly balanced at two inches from the cross-guard, it was light yet strong. It was surprising that it had turned out as well as it had, given that it had been reforged from pieces of a once legendary blade long ago.

He left the tent. He thought about checking on Denmark again, saying his good-bye, but he did not. He did not need any distractions.

Killing England would be hard enough.

* * *

A/N: Cliffhanger!

I might be slightly evil; I divided Day 18 into two parts, so there will be more that happens during that day. I'm also not sure when I'll be able to type anymore up, so please be patient.

Also, in the last chapter, I forgot to mention that there was a _Gutter_s reference. You all should read _Gutters_, by Glass-of-milk, if you have not already. (Yes, it is another fan-fic. It is also a lot better than mine.)

Google Translate tells me that "Lykke til" means "Good luck" in Norwegian. I have no idea if that is accurate, as I do not speak Norwegian (yet).

Anyone noticed the very subtle references to things that originate from England? (*cough*Harry Potter *cough*)

Thank you all for over 1,000 views as of this morning!


	15. Day 18: Part the Second

England sipped his morning tea (a nice Earl Grey) as he sorted through the reports on his desk. Apparently, camp guards had caught an albino German and a Hungarian sneaking into hi camp a few nights ago. They had been thrown out quickly and efficiently.

Another report caught England's attention. Norway had made an alliance with China and North Korea and had asked them to invade the Middle East.

The Middle East problem had been resolved! Why had Norway interfered?

Still, England could not ignore the Middle East. He signed orders for the Russian troops to go.

"England, you coward!"

England's head snapped up. Was that…_Norway_?

Sure, England had injured Denmark, quite possibly mortally, but that was no reason for Norway to be homicidal. After all, one colony -sorry, province- was much like another.

Sighing, he left his tent. Sure enough, Norway was stalking through the camp, using his magic to throw soldiers in his way about, completely willy-nilly. He was carrying his sword.

Bloody. Hell.

He had to face Norway. England has seen that look on Norway's face exactly once before. And it had been a very bloody day. If he didn't face Norway and defeat him now, Norway would hunt him until the end of the world, and quite possibly after.

He grabbed his own sword. It was very old, and very special to England. Norway was better at magic, but England was better at fencing. He hoped.

* * *

Norway eyed England -not warily, but vengefully. Remember that his childhood was filled with Viking raids. Vikings did not believe in fear, but they did believe in vengeance.

However, he did not let himself feel his anger. It would only distract him.

England, on the other hand, was very obviously terribly angry. Norway stood in his way on the path to world domination.

It was his anger that drove England to strike first.

Norway parried him. Quite easily, truth be told.

England tried again, this time for a low line of attack. Again, Norway parried.

It was after England's third such attempt that Norway launched his own attack, and thus the dance began.

Both had long histories of war. They knew the craft. Both were equally fast, equally strong, equally driven.

It was England who scored first blood. Norway had just been an instant too slow in his parry and England's blade had gotten through. Thankfully, it missed Norway's eye, which England had been aiming for, and left only a cut across Norway's cheek.

It was Norway who scored second blood, and third, leaving a red-rimmed hole in England's sleeve, and a similar cut across one cheek.

Somehow, despite England's obvious anger (or perhaps because of it), Norway slowly began winning. He was older, after all; he had more experience. It would not have been an obvious victory to those who were watching, but both Norway and England could fell the infinitesimal ways the Norway was now just a little bit stronger, a little bit faster. It would not have mattered, except England was getting tired.

He tried something desperate: he attacked with magic. Sure, he did not have his wand, but his sword would conduct magic the same way a wand would.

Norway sidestepped (Why waste magic when avoiding it would work just as well?), and was not hit by the spell -fortunate, as it immolated a tent about 30 feet away. Unfortunately, Norway's footing was not steady (Never let anyone tell you that Norways have good balance; it's a lie.), and he stumbled, then fell.

England grinned maliciously, then stepped on Norway's wrist. His sword clattered from fingers he could no longer feel.

"You are finished," England hissed, aiming his own sword at Norway's heart, a spell on his lips.

Norway stared up at England. He could very clearly see the dark aura around him; it was as if some _thing _had taken up residence in England's mind.

It was hopeless. Why should he struggle now? Denmark might already be dead; the others would soon follow. Perhaps it would be better to die; after all, death in battle meant a free path to Valhalla.

Why should he want to continue to live?

He could feel the blood running down his face. His side felt wet and sticky -perhaps England had stabbed him as he fell. England still stood on his wrist. It was probably broken.

He was so tired. The world grew dim and grey about the edges.

Norway had never been quite this close to death before. In the 1300's, during the Black Death, he had been very sick, and had almost died, but…it had not been this close.

He didn't like it. He didn't like feeling helpless; he never had.

He had to protect his family. Family came first. He had told Denmark that on more than one occasion.

He knew what he had to do, even if it killed him.

He tried lifting his hand (not the one still under England's foot), and managed to raise it a few inches before it fell back to earth. He tried again with similar results.

He tried again. This time, he reached his goal: the cross-guard of England's sword. He tugged, and had just enough strength to pull England off balance, and that was just enough to make him step off on Norway's wrist.

The instant he was freed, Norway jumped to his feet. He twisted the blade out of England's hands.

The bastard was surprised, as most normal people would have been, but that did not stop him from trying to apparate.

Norway stopped him by grabbing the front of his shirt. It's difficult to turn in a circle when you've got an angry Norwegian making sure you don't.

Norway pulled the Brit close to him. (Their noses were literally two inches apart.) "Who was your mother, England, that you insult, exult, and all at once, over the wretched?" he hissed.

(On a scale of 1 to 10 of how real things were getting, with 10 being "extremely real", Norway quoting Shakespeare was an eleven.)

England kicked Norway in the shin and tried to run away. He could not, and for a moment, he could not figure out why. He glanced back at Norway.

The other man had a creepy smile on his face, as in a "Mr.-Russia's-getting-out-his-magic-cane" smile.

The color drained from England's face. "You-you don't n-need s-sp-spells…"

"And you always thought spells made magic more convenient. When will you learn?"

With a flick of his wrist, he released England.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No." Norway remained expressionless.

"Then-?"

"I haven't decided yet. You are a coward, and cowards, according to the old ways, do not deserve to live. However, I am a reasonable man. Surrender and I won't kill you. Realize the error of your ways, and I will personally guarantee that no one else kills you, either. The choice is yours."

"I -I…" England had a hard time saying the words. It had been a long time. " I surr- surrend - surrender."

As soon as England said the words, two people -Prussia and Hungary, Norway was surprised to see (What were they doing in England's camp?)- came forward and escorted England away.

As for Norway, the pain form his broken wrist (he could feel the bones scraping together) and the blood loss from his other wounds were starting to get to him. The world once more turned grey around the edges, and then it went completely dark.


	16. Day 27

Norway stirred and woke up. He looked around groggily for something to wash the funny taste out of his mouth.

A hand held a cup of coffee in front of his face.

"'M I dead? "Cause this 's wh't I imagine Heaven t' be like," he murmured groggily as he accepted the cup.

Laughter. That irritated Norway. What was there to be happy about his early in the morning?

Actually, he had no idea what time it was. He took a sip of coffee. His vision cleared. Denmark was sitting in a chair next to the bed.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you, too, Norge."

"It's too early for this."

"It's 5 o'clock in the afternoon."

That took a moment (and another sip of coffee) for Norway to comprehend. He was not a morning person. "So I've been asleep for, what, nine hours?"

"Try nine days."

"What?!"

"Yep. We've been keeping an eye on you. You worried us for a while, Norge."

Norway's cup was empty. He set it down. "What's been happening?"

"Well, Sve and Finny have been keeping an eye on England and his allies. American and Russia left to fight North Korea and China in the Middle East. Apparently, that turned into a three-way war before you could say 'Skål.' Spain defected to our side, and Prussia and Hungary recently returned with Germany."

"Oh, so I haven't missed much."

"Nope! Here, Finland wanted to make sure you ate something." Denmark handed Norway a plate with pancakes on it. He reached for the fork and wondered why he couldn't move his fingers…

Oh, right, his broken wrist. With a little juggling, he managed to pick up the fork with his left hand.

"Why are you up and about?" Norway asked in between bites of the delicious pancakes. "You should be resting. That was a nasty wound."

Denmark shrugged. "I'm too stupid to stay injured long. Wanna see my scars?"

Norway hadn't given an answer, but Denmark tugged the bottom of his shirt up anyway.

"I'm trying to eat, Idiot."

Actually, Denmark was extraordinarily lucky. He only had two lines of scars, running perpendicular across his stomach. That's right, his scars made a Nordic Cross.

For a wound like that, Norway would have expected more scarring.

He set his plate down. It was empty and he was full…maybe he'd sleep some more…

He noticed that Denmark was drinking a beer. "How on earth did you get a beer in the middle of a war?"

"Scotland."

"Same question."

"He has a liquor store in his suitcase, Norge. Liquor stores are cool."

Norway sighed; he should have known. He wasn't tired anymore, though. "What did Finland say about getting out of bed?"

"After I check your stitches, and when you feel like it, you can."

"Well?"

"Well what?" Denmark asked with a grin.

"Are you going to check my stitches?"

"Maybe I wanted to keep you in bed."

Norway glared.

"Fine! Fine. Here, sit up for me?"

With some assistance from Denmark, he tugged his shirt off.

The stitches in his side felt rather tight. Denmark took a quick look and reached for the penknife on the table.

"I'm going to cut your stitches now, okay?"

Norway nodded. "How many did I get?"

"Seventeen. It was a nasty cut."

Norway winced slightly as Denmark cut the first stitch. It didn't hurt (just a slight tugging sensation), but it was uncomfortable.

"Who stitched me up?"

"I did. No one noticed it until later, and I was okay by then."

"Thank you."

"I thought I should repay the favor. Finny patched your wrist up, though."

"Yeah, you never were good at setting bones."

Denmark shrugged. "It wouldn't be fair if I was good at everything and looked this sexy."

Norway glared at him.

"Well, it's true. Let me help you put your shirt back on."

Within minutes, Norway was dressed and drinking a third cup of coffee.

"What are you going to do about England?" Denmark asked suddenly.

Norway considered for a moment. "I- I'm not sure yet, but I have an idea…"

"Well, that's good. Switzy offered to hold our peace settlements in Bern in a month. Well, three weeks."

"I think I'll start making plans, then."


	17. Day 28

The next day, the funerals were held for Norway's soldiers.

It rained.

All of the other funerals for the other countries' armies had been held earlier in the week, but they had held off this one until Norway himself could attend.

Denmark stood off to the side, holding an umbrella so that Norway wouldn't get soaked. Norway wouldn't have cared. He noticed nothing except the bodies being lowered into the ground.

So many dead…

He didn't even notice the tears running down his face.


	18. Day 29

The next morning, Norway woke up alone.

He had shouted at them the night before. They had pestered him, trying to make him feel better.

He hadn't wanted to feel better. He hadn't wanted to stop being sad; he wanted to be left alone.

He very rarely lost his temper. He felt bad about it now.

But he needed space.

A knock sounded from outside.

"Norge?"

"Go away, Denmark."

Denmark walked into the tent. Norway glared at him.

"Hey, Norge."

Norway didn't say anything.

"So, I was thinking, Norge, that-"

"Just. Stop."

Denmark didn't say anything for a moment.

"Lukas, I don't know what I did, but….I'm sorry."

"Please, can I just have some time to myself?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry, sir."

He left.

Norway had no idea what just happened, but he was frustrated, and angry, and….

He shook his head. His hands were trembling, he was so upset. He needed space. He wasn't going to get it here.

He opened a portal to somewhere (he didn't care where) and stepped through.

* * *

A/N: Consider this the end of Part One of the Second Kalmar Union.


	19. Day 51

Norway stepped back into his tent. Well, he stepped back into the spot where his tent used to be.

He should have expected that. The meeting was today, after all; the troops would have been sent home sometime in the last twenty-two days.

He glanced around. A few signs of the war remained: empty bullet casings, miscellaneous tents, broken flag poles. The ground was stained red in some places.

It was snowing. A light dusting had already begun to cover the world.

He stood for a moment, letting the snowflakes cling to his clothing and hair. He'd always loved the snow, though now, of course, the cold made his wrist ache.

Sighing, he opened a new portal to a hotel in Bern.

* * *

Norway stepped out into the hotel lobby. He hadn't meant to end up there, but he'd been rather distracted.

It was approximately 1.7 seconds before he was noticed.

"Nooooooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggg gggggggeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

An instant later, Norway was engulfed in an enormous bear hug. It proved to be a problem, as Norway was unable to breathe properly.

"Denmark, I can't breathe…"he muttered.

Immediately, Denmark let go and began yelling at Norway.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were? You can't just go running off without telling anyone! We had NO IDEA where you were! Where the hell were you?"

Norway shrugged. He was unimpressed. "Look, I'm back in time for the meeting. I just needed some space, ok?"

"Did you get that space?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And…?"

"I came back. I'm back now, and I intend to stay, at least until this is cleared up."

"Okay."

"That's it?"

"I don't want to pry. I-" He sighed, then looked down at his shoes. "I don't want you to leave again, Nor."

"I won't. I promise."

Denmark smiled sadly. "That's what you said after Sweden left."

"I had no choice in 1814."

"Yeah…" Denmark unexpectedly hugged Norway. "I was worried about you." He lightly kissed the top of Norway's head. "I missed you, Lukas."

Norway said nothing for a moment. "I missed you too, I guess." Pause. "It's time for the meeting, isn't it?"

* * *

Norway was nervous as he waited for everyone to enter the meeting room. He had a plan, but he didn't think that it would go over well.

The meeting room, which was set up like a court room, was soon filled with countries. Norway sat in the prosecutor's chair and Switzerland was the judge.

England was led in by a poker-faced Prussia. He sat in the defendant's chair. He had no lawyer; this was the World Court, and countries represented themselves.

"The charges, Mr. Norway?" Switzerland began.

"Mr. England is charged with one count of starting a world war, one count of imperialism, and four counts of upsetting the balance of power."

"How do you plead, Mr. England?"

"Innocent."

The whole room burst into chaos:

Scotland was shouting something in his native language in such a tone that it could not have been polite. France was trying to keep him from murdering England. America was loudly shouting that Norway was a commie, but he took it back when Denmark hefted his axe in a threatening manner. (It could have also been Sweden's glare. One does not simply call any of Sweden's wives, current or not, 'commies'.) Prussia had been trying to literally make England eat his words, but Hungary hit him with her frying pan.

And that was only a small portion of the commotion.

Switzerland raised his gun and fired a warning shot. "Sit down and shut up, or I'll beat you with my Peace Prize."

Everyone immediately sat down.

"Mr. Norway, what evidence is there?"

"England took on the colonies of France and Spain, allied himself with Russia and America, then he began to annex Germany. This led to war."

"Mr. England, would you like to revise your plea?"

"Yes."

"All in favor of England's guilt say 'Aye'."

Every country, with the exceptions of Russia, his housemates, and America, said, "Aye!"

"Guilty. Mr. Norway, what is the sentence?"

Norway cleared his throat. "England must give up all of his colonies and Common Wealths. He must alos dissolve the United Kingdom."

"All who agree, say-"

"Vhat about zhe reparations?" Prussia shouted. "Mein brüder had to pay zhem!"

Switzerland ignored him. "Vote, please."

Again, a majority was reached on Norway's side.

"The motion carries. Who do you call to the stand next, Mr. Norway?"

"I call Mr. America."

"I didn't do anything, you commie!"

"Mr. America is called to the stand," Switzerland said, casually flipping the safety on his gun on and off.

"Commies," America muttered again as he made his way to the stand.

"What are the charges, Mr. Norway?"

"Mr. America is charged with prolonging the hostilities; joining a war to which he was not invited; and allying himself with, to quote Mr. Scotland, 'an ambitious bastard'."

"How do you plead, Mr. America?"

"Innocent!"

"All in favor of America's guilt?"

Every single country raised their hands.

"Guilty. Mr. Norway, the sentence?"

"America must pay damages to Germany and Prussia in an amount that will later be specified."

"All in favor?"

Again, every country raised their hands.

"The sentence carries."

"Commies!"

"Get off the stand before I find you in contempt of the court."

"I call Mr. Russia to the stand."

"You called, da?"

"What are the charges?"

"Mr. Russia is charged with taking advantage of an economic situation to increase his land holdings."

"How do you plead, Mr. Russia?"

"I plead guilty. It is what I did, da?"

"All who agree?"

Nearly every country raised their hands.

"And the sentence?"

"He must give up all of the land he gained since the collapse of the euro."

"But they become one with Russia."

"All in favor of Norway's sentence?" Switzerland asked, ignoring Russia.

Many countries raised their hands -not all, of course, but the majority was on Norway's side.

"Sentence carried. Mr. Norway, you said that there were four people you wanted to try today. Who is the last?"

"I call myself to the stand."

You could have heard a pin drop, if it hadn't been for the actual noise of dropped pens.

"Nor? What are you-?" Denmark began in a low voice.

Norway cut him off in an equally low voice. "Trust me. Please."

Denmark nodded. "I do."

Norway walked slowly to the stand. He wondered if this was the best solution.

"Who is prosecuting?" Switzerland asked.

"I am prosecuting myself."

"What are the charges?"

"Imperialism, upsetting the balance of power, and joining a war to which I was not invited."

The whole room burst into chaos yet again. All of Norway's allies were shouting their disagreements. His enemies were shouting back. This only went on for about two minutes before, thankfully, Switzerland fired off another warning shot.

Everyone settled down immediately. He'd already used tow today. The next one would not be a warning.

"How do you plead, Mr. Norway?"

"Guilty."

"All in favor?"

Slightly less than half raised their hands.

"All against?"

Again, slightly less than half raised their hands. It was a tie. Only the neutrals remained. They would not vote. Switzerland would have to decide.

"Mr. Norway, you accuse yourself of upsetting the balance of power."

"Yes, your honor."

"That is a serious accusation."

"A true one."

Switzerland nodded. "We live to preserve that balance. You upset it. Therefore, you are guilty."

"Yes."

"What sentence do you propose?"

"I propose that I give up all the land I have gained since the collapse of the euro."

Interestingly enough, it was Denmark who grasped the implications first. "You wouldn't give us up, Norge! You wouldn't leave us alone!"

Switzerland ignored the Dane. "That would help restore the balance. I accept your terms."

Norway smiled sadly. "One last thing, Mr. Switzerland. The German state must be divided into two states: West Germany and-"

"Zhe awesome me!" Prussia was so excited; he grabbed a broom, jumped on a table, and began playing air guitar.

"Terms accepted. Now, who will enforce these new terms?"

The Nordics (except Norway), Germany, Prussia, France, Scotland, ad Hungary all raised their hands.

"Accepted. Court dismissed."

"I guess zhat makes us zhe "Beat Up England" League, mon cher," France said to Scotland.

"It's a rather large club. We should have t-shirts."

* * *

Norway was in the process of changing into his pajamas when Denmark burst into his hotel room. Thankfully, he only needed to put a shirt on.

"Why are you here, Dane?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what, Idiot?"

"Why did you give us up? I never would have done that. If Sweden hadn't left, I'd probably still be an empire!"

"I'm not like you."

Denmark nodded. "I know."

"I let you go because I couldn't face becoming what you are."

"Ouch."

"I didn't mean it like that, you idiot." Norway started to pull on his pajama shirt.

Denmark stopped him. "Let me see your scars."

Norway was a bit baffled, not mention offended, by this request. Scars were a sign of weakness; that's why most countries wore long sleeves and long pants, even gloves and scarves, not matter what time of the year it was. It was terribly impolite to ask to see another country's scars.

"To see how your side is healing," Denmark clarified.

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

"Finland wanted me to check on you."

"Danmark?"

"Hm?"

"You're making this far more awkward than it needs to be."

"Oops. Sorry, Norge." He quickly inspected Norway's new scar. "It looks fine to me." He grinned impishly. "I'll bet it's still ticklish."

"Don't you dare, Dane."

"Fine." He sighed. "Hey, what's this scar from? I don't remember it." He lightly traced the edges of a large, smooth scar that covered a large portion of Norway's upper back.

"The burning of Finmark in October 1944."

"Oh…I hadn't realized that it was so…bad…"

Norway shrugged. "It does not hurt so much anymore."

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them reminiscing about the Second World War.

"You know," Denmark said, breaking the silence, "I wish I'd been as brave as you were."

"I wasn't brave. My people were, but I was not."

"Oh, yes you were. You resisted all five years of the war. You did not surrender for two months -longer than anyone else managed. How is that not brave?"

"I was afraid constantly during those five years."

"But you didn't give up! You worked through it. I didn't."

"Were you afraid?"

"Of course, but…not for myself."

Norway raised an eyebrow.

"I was worried about you, you know. Well, and for Copenhagen."

"What happened? I never got much news from you during the war."

"Oh, they threatened to bomb Copenhagen."

"Ah."

"You know, Norge, this is a depressing topic of conversation."

"Really, Danmark? Anyway, it's getting late, and I'm tired."

Denmark stood. "Good night, Norge." He lightly kissed the top of Norway's head and left.

* * *

A/N: I will make ALL the Dr. Who references!


	20. Day 52

The next afternoon, Norway set off on an epic quest to find England.

Eventually, he thought to try England's hotel room. Norway hadn't thought he'd be there still, but it was the only place left to look.

He knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer.

Looking around to make sure that no one was in the hall, he unlocked the door with a thought and pushed it open.

He listened for a moment. There was a sound coming from…the balcony, Norway thought.

He walked to the door that led to the balcony. He was right; England stood, leaning on the railing, and talking into a cell phone. Something about leaving notes.

"Were you aware of how cliché you're being?"

England jumped a little and turned around. "Norway. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize."

"Why? You are the victor. I never apologized."

"I haven't been victorious in a long while. I've forgotten what it feels like."

"And I have forgotten what it feels like to be conquered."

"Your thousand-year anniversary is coming up."

"Yeah, it is." He sighed and looked down at the phone. He pushed a button and put it back in his pocket. "They hate me, you know."

"Who?"

"My brothers, my children, all of them. They all changed their names, even, and their flags. I -I regret treating them the way I did."

"It's in the past now. I don't think they hate you."

England wiped a hand across his eyes. (He hadn't been crying, had he?) "Why do you say that?"

Norway sighed and looked away. "I…have been married. Several times. Each time, I had no choice in the matter -much like your brothers had no choice. Yet I did not hate Sweden. Nor did I hate Denmark. We are family, England. You cannot hate family."

"You do not know my brothers, nor my children."

"That is not true."

England stared down at the ground several stories below. Norway frowned and took a step closer.

"What do I do now?"

"Talk to them And if they do not listen, try again. You must give them time."

"Thank you, Norway."

"Always. We are friends after all."

"Is there nothing more?" England asked, stepping away from the balcony.

"Not for a long time, England."

England smiled sadly. "A foolish hope, I suppose." A pause. "It might be nice to have the house to myself finally."

"It always is." Norway turned and left.

* * *

A/N: Ship magic countries with other magic countries, that's what I say. Also, Sherlock. Have I succeeded in giving you feels yet?


	21. Day 53: Part One

Norway bolted upright, going from nightmare to fully aware in an instant.

What had he been dreaming about? He couldn't remember. Something about a fire, maybe?

He couldn't remember the last time his nightmares had been so bad that they woke him. Maybe during the Black Death…

He shivered. He didn't want to face his dreams again.

He reached for the light switch. He had some reading he could catch up on.

Before the switch was flipped, the door opened.

"What the hell, Danmark!"

"Sorry. I heard you scream. Nightmare?"

Norway nodded. The light from the hallway gave Denmark enough light to see.

"What about?" Denmark asked as he closed the door.

"I don't remember."

Denmark sat on the edge of Norway's bed. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes please."

"Okay." He brushed Norway's hair back and kissed his forehead. "I'll keep first watch."

* * *

Several hours later, when Norway woke up, Denmark was gone, and a tray containing coffee and waffles sat on the bedside table.

He sipped the coffee slowly, enjoying the taste and the way it seemed to course through his veins, waking him up.

Where was Denmark? The shower in the next room shut off. Ah…

A few minutes later, Denmark came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and toweling his hair dry.

"Is that why your hair is always so…disheveled?"

"Good morning to you, too, Norge. Glad to see you."

"Oh, shut up, Idiot." He took another sip of his coffee. "It's too early for polite conversation." He took a bite of waffles. (Gods, they were practically swimming in butter.) "Did you make these?"

Denmark nodded, folding his towel.

"In what kitchen?" Norway asked curiously.

"The hotel's."

"They let you cook there?"

Denmark winked. "Something I've learned over the years is that if you are tall, blonde, holding an axe, and it is 7 o'clock in the morning, very few people will argue with you if you want to use their kitchen."

Norway sighed and shook his head. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

"Legally, nothing. I'm not your colony anymore."

"Good riddance. It was terribly annoying having people banging around the kitchen at 7 in the morning, wasting perfectly good sleeping time."

Denmark shrugged good-naturedly. "You'll miss my coffee when I leave."

"I won't need it; I'll get to sleep in."

"Oh come now, Norge. You'd need coffee even if you hibernated like a bear."

Norway's best rebuttal to that was to stick out his tongue at the Dane.

"Perhaps you should have some more coffee, Norge. You're about as grumpy as a bear this morning," Denmark laughed.

Norway glared at the Dane until his cup was refilled. He relaxed after taking the first sip. It was perfectly hot and very, very black, just the way he liked it. Norway had to admit that Denmark could make a good cup of coffee.

"Why do you always take such good care of me?"

That caught Denmark by surprise. "What d'ya mean?"

"You always make sure that I'm okay, that I sleep well, and eat, and have enough coffee before you do anything else. Why?"

"I've always felt…responsible for you, I guess. You were very little when I found you, and I guess I'm just used to taking care of you. You were the first person I'd ever seen before, after all. I'd be awfully lonely if something happened to you."

Norway hid a smile. "It won't be long before today's meeting. I should get dressed."


	22. Day 53: Part 2

The meeting started well enough. The World Court had not been the end of the matter, of course. America was trying to sue Norway, but no one would back him up. The case was dismissed.

The Scotland, of all people, raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Scotland?"

The Scottish man grinned and pulled France out of his chair. The Frenchman had not been paying attention, and was rather surprised. "What are you doing, Écosse?"

Scotland kept hold of France's hands as he knelt in front of him. "Francis Bonnefoy, je vous connais depuis longtemps, et je vous ai aimés depuis tout aussi longtemps." He pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket and opened it with one hand. "Veux-tu m'épouser?"

"Oui! Oui, je t'aime, Écosse!" France pulled Scotland to his feet and tried to kiss him. Scotland pressed a finger to his lips.

"Rings first, Franny." There were two rings in the box, one for each of them. Scotland pulled one out and slipped it onto France's ring finger.

France grinned when he saw the ring: tiny blue and white gems created the Scottish flag on an otherwise plain silver band.

"C'est magnifique, Alistor."

"Wait 'till ya see th' other ring."

"Zhe ozzer ring?"

Scotland pulled a second ring from the box and offered it to France. His eyes widened when he saw it: like the ring he know wore, it had a flag on it. This time, it was his own. He slid it onto Scotland's ring finger.

They kissed quite passionately after that. Most countries had the decency to look away (although Switzerland went a step further and covered Liechtenstein's eyes), but the Irelands cat-called quite rudely.

* * *

The meeting was adjourned for the day, creating an atmosphere of celebration.

Many countries were down in the hotel's bar, "drinking to the union." In reality, they were drinking because they were Prussia, Germany, Denmark, and other countries known for their copious consumption of alcohol.

Neither Scotland nor France was completely pissed, though. Scotland because the entire city of Bern did not contain enough alcohol to get him drunk, let alone the bar in one hotel; France because none of the wines had been quite to his taste.

Still, everyone else was drunk enough to actually follow Denmark's toasts of "Skål!", though they were becoming more and more infrequent.

Prussia had left his brother a while ago in favor of prettier company. Currently, he was sitting in a darkened corner with Hungary, who had also been drinking, on his lap.

England walked up to France and Scotland. He was surprisingly steady on his feet; he must not have had much to drink yet.

"I wish to offer my congratulations to you both," he began stiffly.

"Merci, Angleterre."

"I also wish to apologize to both of you for…the past."

"Tha's alright. I's in th' past, Little Brother. Families forgive each other."

England nodded, then a sudden horrifying thought came to him. "Bloody hell, you're part of my family now, too, you Frog!"

France would have responded, but he was interrupted by Denmark's "singing". Apparently, he had consumed a large quantity of beer, for he was "singing" what seemed to be "Part of Your World", from _The Little Mermaid, _in Danish, and he had invented quite a few new notes besides.

Thankfully, his "singing" cut off when Norway grabbed his tie and dragged him out of the bar, scolding him in mildly accented Danish.

"Would you like to come to zhe wedding?" France asked England.

England looked from France to Scotland and back again. "If I'm invited."

"Of course y'are. Yer family, Little Brother."

"I'll be there, then."

The festivities continued late into the night, well into the next morning, until (due to countries leaving alone or in pairs) the bar was empty.


	23. Day 54

Norway was walking to the meeting room late the next morning when he was pulled into a random room off the hall.

"Hva faen-?"

"Good morning, Norge!"

Norway gripped his head in both hands. Oh, he should not have had so much beer last night…

"Could you please lower your voice?"

"Nope! I'm not even talking that loud."

"How are you not hung-over?"

Denmark shrugged. "Poor Norge. Not used to German beer."

"Seriously, if you're just going to harass me, I'm going to go get the meeting over with, and then I'm going back to bed."

Denmark chuckled. Norway looked around. Sweden, Finland, and Iceland were also there.

"Hva-?"

Denmark pushed Norway into a chair and put a pen in his hand. "Here, sign this," he said, gesturing to the paper in front of Norway.

"What is this?" Norway squinted (it was much too bright in the room) and tried to read it.

A cup of coffee was pushed into his hand. His eyes focused as he sipped it slowly.

"'The Declaration of a New Union, Which'-" He set the cup down. "Helvete! I'm not signing this."

"Why not, Norge? You didn't even finish reading it."

"I'm not getting into another union with you idiots. No offense, Sweden, Finland."

"Hey!"

"Be quiet, Ice. Why not, Norge?"

"Because you all annoy the hell out of me! I don't want to live with you!" Faen, he forgot about his hangover. He lowered is voice. "Leave me alone. You are crazy."

"We can establish a blockade on you, Norge." Denmark plucked the half-filled cup off the table and held it out of Norway's reach. "After all, it's not as if you _need_ coffee every morning…"

"I don't."

"You're such a liar, Norge," Denmark said, with a touch of both glee and fondness in his voice, as he ruffled Norway's hair.

"I hate you." He put his head on the table. "You wouldn't dare blockade me."

Denmark laughed. Norway groaned. "My head…"

"I'll give you your coffee back if you sign it."

"Faen te deg."

"You don't mean that."

"The Hell I don't. Give me my damned coffee back."

"Sign it."

"Hell no."

Denmark smirked and raised the coffee cup to his lips. "You sure, Norge?"

"I hate you all. Go to hell," Norway muttered as he grudgingly signed the contract. "Give me my coffee back."

Denmark handed the coffee back and lightly kissed the top of Norway's head.

Norway sipped the coffee. "Are you happy now, Idiot?"

"Almost." Denmark reached under the table and pulled out a wooden box, which he set on the table. Flipping open the box, he lifted a silver crown out and placed it on Norway's head. "Now come the days of the King. May they be blessed," he whispered.

"I'm not wearing this crown ever again."

"Oh, come now, Norge! You look so great in it."

"I hate you."

"Love ya, too, Norge."

"Go away. Aren't we going to be late for a meeting?"

Denmark laughed. "Meeting? What meeting?"

Norway groaned. "Faen. Te. Deg."

* * *

A/N: One chapter left!


	24. Day 55: An Epilogue, Of Sorts

Norway woke up early the next morning to the smell of freshly-brewed coffee.

Actually, he'd probably have woken up on his own; he no longer had a pounding headache, nor was he sick to his stomach.

The he remembered what had happened the day before. Oh gods…

He pulled the covers back over his head. Screw the world.

The covers were pulled roughly off of him.

"Damn you, Denmark!"

"Wake up, Sleepyhead."

"That is no way to wake your king up." He tugged on the covers, to no avail.

"Oh, yeah, huh? Well, Norge, when I was king, we couldn't just lounge about in bed all day."

"I'm going to find that paper and rip it up."

Denmark laughed. "You're too late, Norge. We posted pictures of it on Facebook. It already has 143 likes. See?" Denmark plopped a laptop down on Norway's chest. It was opened to Denmark's Timeline.

Sure enough, a picture of the cursed document was posted there, with Norway's signature clearly visible: "_Kongeriket Norge_."

"Faen!"

"Yes, but it's not as bad as what happened to Scotty." Denmark reached over and scrolled down. Pictures of France and Scotland in *ahem* "compromising" situations.

"Who took these?"

"Hungary, of course."

"I hope Scotland doesn't find out."

"Oh, he wouldn't want to deal with Prussia." Denmark took the laptop away and pushed a cup of coffee into Norway's hands. "For what it's worth, I think you'll be a great king."

"It's not worth much, you idiot."

"But I get to live with you, Norge! Aren't you excited?"

Norway pulled on Denmark's tie until they were nose-to-nose. "No."

"Oh come on, Norge! I'm a delightful housegu- OW!"

Norway had taken Denmark's axe and smacked him across the face with the flat of it. A nice red mark was already forming.

"Go. Away."

"Of course, sir. See you later." Denmark stalked out of the room, rubbing his face.

Norway smiled smugly. Peace at last.

* * *

Prussia finally found Denmark drunk off his ass in the hotel bar. He sat down next to him. "Vhat is zhat on your face?" he asked, signaling the barkeep for a glass of beer.

"Norway *hic* hit 'em wif 'is own *hic* axe."

Prussia had not noticed America before, but it seemed that he, too, had consumed far too many beers.

A glass of beer was pushed across the bar. Prussia took a sip- not German, but still pretty awesome. "Vhat is zhis about Norwegen hitting you?"

"He did." Denmark was speaking un-awesomely thick Danish; Prussia could barely understand him.

Prussia laughed. "Zhat is so un-awesome! Vas it a lovers' spat?"

Denmark sighed. "I wish."

Prussia couldn't resist prying. Denmark was usually such a shallow person, bragging about his latest conquests, but never talking about those girls (and guys) again after the one-night stands. He never talked about his feelings. However, when he was this drunk…well, Prussia was going to have fun.

"But…you have feelings for him, ja?"

"Why would he? *Hic* He's so "hic* mean!"

"Shut your un-awesome face, Amerika!" Prussia signaled for another round of beer. "Vell, Denmark?"

"I've always loved 'im, since we were children."

"Really?"

"Ja. He was the first person I ever met."

"Vhy don't you tell me about it?"

That was all the prompting Denmark needed to launch into the long, mildly convoluted story of how Denmark met Norway, and the events that followed.

Some parts Prussia could not believe. "He and Scotland vhat?!"

"How d'ya think the Isle o' Man was created, hm? I won't even tell ya about Vinland."

"So, vhat are you going to do about zhis? It is not healthy to have zhe feelings for someone zhis long wizzout telling zhem."

"What're ya? France?" America interrupted.

"For zhe last time, Amerika, shut up zhat un-awesome face before zhe awesome me shuts it for you!"

Denmark emptied his glass of beer and signaled the barkeep for another one. "I dunno, Prussia. What d'ya think I should do?"

Prussia thought about his own experience with love. There had really only ever been one person for him. He ahd prayed- a lot -a first, because in those days, his younger days, it had been sinful for a boy to love another boy. This was no longer the case, of course. Also, Hungary had not turned out to be a boy.

"Tell him or not. Zhat is up to you. However, if you are not telling him, zhen you need to move on."

"I'll always love him, Prussia."

Damn it. Where was France when you needed him?

"'Zhe course of true love never did rum smooth,'" Prussia quoted softly. Let people say what they would; Prussia had more culture than all of them combined.

Denmark nodded and finished his beer. "Ya won't tell anyone, right?"

"Of course not." Well, Hungary wasn't just _anyone. _Besides, she'd be happy to hear that she'd been right about the whole thing.

Denmark stood and almost fell over. He righted himself. "Good night."

"Good night." Prussia should probably be going to bed soon; he had a plane to catch in the morning, and besides, Hungary was probably wondering where he was. Last call was being called now; they'd have to leave soon.

He stood and turned to say good night to America, but he was asleep. Clearly, he was not as awesome as Prussia.

Chuckling softly to himself, he walked out of the bar.

The lights flicked off behind him.

* * *

A/N: Finished at last!

Thank you everyone who's read this, and especially everyone who's reviewed.

I still do not won Hetalia. I also don't own Facebook.

For those of you still interested in reading things set in the SKUniverse ( as this universe has been dubbed), I have already started a sequel that is set about 25 years in the future. I have not decided on a title yet, though.


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